I first started blogging to have a voice within the community of believers that I was a part of. Much has changed since then. Many choppy waters. I evaluate all the time whether I should continue or not. Whether there is any more point for me to continue. The motivation for me has always been to touch someone else where they are at with something that resonates in what I've shared.

I leave comments all over the place in the blogs. Sometimes that has opened up new doors of friendship, at other times it doesn't. It's like the art of conversation. When someone speaks to you, you respond. It's considered bad manners to ignore people when they say something. (At least that is how I was raised.) It amazes me, ( and deeply hurts me) how often people don't respond.

As a kid, there was a cupboard in the kitchen that I would hide in when I was sad. No one in my family would talk to me when I was there. They knew I was there but would not acknowledge me. I find that strange now, when I think of it.

So today, when I share and get no response, it opens that wound again.

Amazing, that at the age of 44, those wounds can still hurt. I'm an intelligent woman. What the hell is wrong with me that this still hurts! Like I said I'm an intelligent woman, I can figure out all the possibilities. In fact I can spend a lot of time, complete with anger, and resentment and hurt and tears, figuring out the possible reasons why.

We are all dysfunctional. It just surprises me that that there are certain people that we will, in a sense, accept dysfunction from and others that we turn away from. Like a woman with her skirt tucked up in her nylons. You can choose to discretely go up and give that skirt a little tug to get it back in place or you can make like you didn't even notice.

There are times when I have expressed pain here. It's like a test. If I show my nakedness, will you cover me or will you turn away? Will anyone acknowledge me? Am I even allowed to have that pain? It's an honest question, because it seems to me that there is this unspoken message that says, 'what the hell are you hurting for. this has nothing to do with you. get over it. you are insignificant.'

I've been thinking about the good Samaritan. How long had that man been lying on the road, beaten and bleeding? We know that others walked past him, for various reasons. If he had died while in the priests care, they would have been unable to serve in the temple for 7 days, to observe the time of cleansing. They could maybe be excused of their response, 'It wasn't part of their job.' But what about his family and friends, didn't they wonder where he was or miss him in all that time he was wounded, and then in his recuperation time? The good Samaritan was the only one who acknowledged that the man was even hurting.

What about when I have caused the pain that someone is feeling? Do I go back and pick them up? Or do I continue on my way denying their right to be hurt by what I have done? Do I, in some kind of backward psychology, accuse them of being 'unloving' because they are not forgiving me when I want to continue on and am not take the time to clean up the mess that I have caused. What does Jesus want us to do? Does he want us to make some attempt at restitution?

It would be easier to stay in the cupboard sometimes.